the beast comes for me

like a bull with merciless horns

flattery?

keep it.

any lack of originality

don’t show it.

I’m a matador. I stare into the eyes of death

with style

while the abyss

taunts me

A poser

on the precipice

of being a pussy

and I haven’t jumped yet.

Making it, like a Betty Crocker pie,

or die, like the cherry filling

inside.

Any thought,

comes out of it

like words from hell, and I have to say them

or else, I’m a mute

watching my life go by

in the backseat

of her boyfriend’s car

with his hands

all over, what might’ve been.

I could be Buddha, fat and happy

but no philosophy

will hide my desire

Did you go for what you wanted? You got what they gave you—a happy meal

“Be happy,” they said.